Wake up, yesterday was disappointing
Didn't get **** done
Now gotta jam hard and get lucky
Or it'll all fall apart
Falling
Fell
Just get ****** so you don't mind ******* it all up
****
What am I doing again?

I hate money
But I love everything.
I'd rather anything so I always blow money
So they stop giving me everything.
I hate money
But I love everything

The matches didn't match
They were too slow to catch

No harm to come
From feeling for for clues

Walk the miles
In your best pair of empathy shoes

Living with
Crushing fear
A variety of nuclear disasters
Are inevitable
Mistake or sabotage
Away

Ever trusting guys-in-charge
Won't pull that trigger

She says, "I'm annoyed by your breathing, you smell bad, you look like a wreck."

He wakes up and rolls over toward her, squinting. His ears and brain just begin to communicate. He realizes she just said something and he completely missed it. He decides to pretend he heard it.
He smiles and touches her waist.

She thinks, "He likes me to be mean to him?" and smiles, completely giving up on him.

He thinks, "She's smiling. She just wanted me to touch her." He smiles and falls back asleep.

If you're ever reaching for the words
To make fun of a guy like me
Say
"Hey there pothead with ADD,
I dare you to show me where you've put your key"

There is only one certainty.
Adding "and taxes" is
A spoon full of sugar.

Here he comes, Red the ***
Asking directions to where the ramblers are from.
He's not worried who hears when he laughs loud and cries.
Nobody frowns if he fails when he flies.
Wandering he provides us while he's manic and magic.
Experiences recorded in the Encyclopedia Akashic.

I must have missed a bus
Or slept all day when I should have gotten up
In this dimension.
Everything is familiar but wrong.
I was supposed to be doing something else.
I'm sure I met them
Or did that
In the other dimension.

Hugging a book,
Think I should be Reading, not hugging.
Must be doing that in the other dimension.

Some blood,
Some ****,
Some ***, ****, and ***.
Guess what it is?
It's a bag of me!

Washing dishes, doing laundry and cleaning up ****
Pretending stuff matters in the futility loop.

All my smart buddies
Sit around dreading the apocalypse.
Nukes, climate change, virus, asteroid.

The weird freaky creators
(with their motives we cannot know by design)
Want us to be freaked out about doom.
Want us to LOVE life.
And want us to dread utter doom of all creation
Even worse than we dread our own demise.
We are driven to be clever,
Driven to fear death,
Driven to Love all of creation.
Why should we?
Fear our collective ability to destroy
Beautiful creation!
Fear this collective ability!
Shun the clever destructive trap of
"profit"
Fear this virtue, this evil
Profit is the evil virtue!

Step1. Competition serves a purpose. You shouldn't be so bitter about your whole [how it is].
2. Yeah? I believe you. Serving a purpose is a good enough reason not to hate a thing. I don't even hate me and I'm pretty sure I serve no purpose.
3. I thought you'd fight me on that.
4. Nah, I'm just not that competitive.

Wake up excited
Maybe a dream or a plot got some chemicals squirting in the brain.
The squirt feels good so the idea rings "true"
The meat mouth starts enjoying getting to say stuff.
Post, write, draw, paint, converse
Everything for the latest greatest idea.
And something becomes familiar.
Oh, it was the latest idea.
"My brain was just high on Enthusiasm"TM
(now available from Monsanto)

Just another pointless bout of enthusiasm?
Oh that never goes anywhere.
"I'm going to bed."
Like that

Person 1: "You arent satisfied with me."
Person 2: "No way! It's you who aren't satisfied with me."

Person 3 supposed he was grateful for his selfish gal.
She only cared whether she was satisfied.
He was lonely but things made sense.

two Buddies reunite
1. Diamond Rambler-so hard you'll never stop her from rambling
2. Ardent Materialist-so skeptical, he'll argue against himself being "real"

Soon after arrival,
The ritual of showing the other their favorite belonging,
But there was literally nothing.
Both of their favorite thing was "nothing"

Flat like a snake
Like a field
Like an ocean
Like the top of a mushroom,
Parallel to the surface of earth
Not perpendicular
******* perpendicular freaks!
Horizontal!
Horizontal!

Read the entry on decomposition.
Disagree? Go see your physician.

I don't want to rhyme with decomposition
All of it is too corny
But how sad.
Decomposition is where I'm headed.
And the idea of the process is so full of poetic juice,
But rhyming with that word would cheapen it.
As would a pun about de-composing this poem.
just **** yourself and make an appointment with your physician.

It's nice to have
That "I love everything" chemical
Pass by the receptors.
Who knows what triggers it
Or if my brain can make more.
But it's my fav.

It all came together so perfectly.
Hormones, technology, and me.

Clarity seen from chaos
Just something good but not sure why
Everything moves too fast to keep it straight
But something called,
"Making sense" almost makes.
Sense?

The Lord Gosh hasn't time or attention span to record everything.
That is why it gave us special brain chemicals that fire when sincere laughter occurs.
That is the trigger to record.
Gosh creates life forms so joyful or funny things can go on its compilation.
Big bangs happen and new combinations for life unfold.
All that is retained from the last crunch is what makes it to the compilation.
We humans are farmed for joy and delight, like all beings,
Even the holy octo-beasts made in the image of Gosh itself.

Um looooooo(yodeling)nely prairieeee
Dissolve my self
Into the pond
Into the ocean
Pour the ocean into the swirl

When my meat lets go of its order,
Let me in the swirl.

If my thoughts and sensations were recorded or something,
Sorry I spent so much time jerking off.

I'd have done better if you'd have showed me the point or the line.
I figure I'm not expected to do nothing.
I guess I thought I was just supposed to be doing "time"...
Out here on the lone prairièéêëeēėe

Here he comes, Red the ***
Asking the cosmos directions to where the ramblers are from.
His bright pink nose is smart and weird.
Intoxicant residue in his wiggly orange beard.
He's not saddled with a fiefdom,
Or boredom or wifedom.
He's not embarrassed when he's alone so he laughs loud and cries.
Nobody frowns if he fails when he flies.
Wandering he provides us while he's manic and magic.
He records the experiences in the Encyclopedia Akashic.

Ohhhhhhhh I
Didn't give a ****
And I shouldn't give a ****
So I don't give a ****
And I'll never give a ****

You can't even say anything true can you?
Nope and I've finally made enough progress to think it could never be otherwise.
So can you give a reason or is it just the loose weave that's faded all your details and energy?
A reason: I am a false entity and my rambling bundle of perceptions and explanations have been assembled by this false entity.
A true thing: me
Nobody can rob me of the concept that I am something.
Rob me, please.
Categorize my thoughts.
I'm weary from false order.

Beauty: Let me go!!
Beast: Hold on. We're making progress!
Beauty: What?!!
Beast: You logged seven fewer total hours of shrieking in April than in March. Our best month yet!

If he doesn't agree with you, he doesn't say so directly. He passive-aggressively asks you questions hinting at his opinion. Then he acts like he's superior since all he does is ask questions.

Monkeys paint if you give them paint, you know.
Talented monkeys get better and better
Sometimes they develop a style.
But if you reward them for painting,
They all start to do as little as possible for the reward.
They place one uninspired smudge and turn it in.
They don't ever paint just for interest any more,
once they start getting rewards.

Deep deepy deep deepy deep deep down
I believe there's NO WAY anybody even gets what's going on "really" yet.
God, creator, purpose, metaphysics... We just gotta tell ourselves something to shut up the wondering so we can get on with survival and reproduction, and maybe even comfort enhancement.
Go ahead and **** your thumb with certainty, but I KNOW none of us even get it AT ALL.
Model T on the moon.
Eventually you figure out how to make it vroom
But why is it there?
Like me here.
Why?
Survey says: No reason relevent to my frame of reference,
I'm guessing.
That's my rigmarole.
Not worth a bit of "Reality."

Everywhere I go,
Everyone always tells me,
"Never trust anyone
Who speaks in absolutes."

I misinterpreted a message and based my religion upon it.
Just like everybody else.

My vow was to ONLY love the real.
But I acquired an appetite for the clever.
I'd worry if it was betrayal.
But nothing matters more than ever.

Wake up.
Alone.
What's going on?
What am I?
Where am I?
Am I supposed to be doing something?
How do I follow my programming?
If I rebel and go against the programming, who am I disappointing?
What the **** is going on?
This model T is on the moon.
How did it get here?
I know how to figure out the machine and make it go vroom.
But I don't see where it tells me what-for?

Who put me here?
What do they mean for me to do?

Somebody goofed and shipped a whole crate of LIFE over here, but forgot to include the instructions regarding the point of it all.

I'm ok
So long as I remember to shhhh.
I get so ******* embarrassed
If I get noticed doing anything
Intending anything.

If I have to choose where to stand
Or who to sit with on a couch,
My brain sizzles and I can't move
I'm stopped up with shame

I like ending up places,
Speak only when I need to say something
I don't want to decide.
I hate choosing anything.

I'm great at dealing with
What I'm given.

I love to sit near anybody.
The lepper, the charming dude, the sweet lady, just don't make me pick!!!!!!!

Some wise dude: "Usually the best thing to find is something other than the thing you're looking for."

Reasonable guy: "Seriously? What am I supposed to do? Look for a thing I'm not looking for?."

The Wise:
"Just go ahead and look for something. You'll find something else and THAT will be good."

I swear it wasn't on purpose
I slipped and then the die was cast.
Now I fixate on a nonexistent route
Between here and the prerolled past.

Dearly Beloved, I (being of sound mind) have no hope about racism, war, or the environment. I couldn't bear to tell you while I was alive. Sorry but that's It kids.

It was a sham.
I guess I'm dumb.
I joined a cult.
I really did.
I thought I was smart.
I joined a cult
And stayed seventeen years.
And had children.
And gave my kids and my own youth to a cult.
I can finally swallow it.
The fact!
They didn't love me.
They used me up.
Me, like a masochistic **** actress.
Eager to be used, hungry to be ruined.

I'm lucky I'm ok.
It's not because I'm smart.
Or really changed
I wish to give myself
So thoroughly.
I wish a cult would love me for my absolute abandon
Of self.

Shishka shushka
Shove it up your *******

fiska  fuska
**** yourself

Yay!

Chances are, nobody is waiting to reveal the secret.
Probably I'll die as unaware of the point as I've been from the start.
Please tell me if it's for something.
I'd love to be in on it.

Here he comes
Red the ***.
Don't expect nothin
Leave him to the sun.

Folks try to fix him
And feel proud of their concern.
But how could they improve or stop him?
From rambling in his turn.

Red the ***,
Ugly Son
In LOVE with it all
But it must be unsung.

Don't build him up
Or he'll get re-undone

Hello!
I'm pretty sure 3 dimensional space is an illusion that helps my thinker tell my meat how to interact.
I'm pretty sure the phenomenon I call time is something other than what I comprehend, but it's something.
Hello everything!
I'm enjoying rotating around in existence with you!!!
Whatever the point is, "Hello!!!".

Love: it wasn't made for us, but for time
I'm sure its purpose is not to make us smile.
Is it just that it conveys some misunderstood message or advantage to our offspring?
Yes, something like that.
We need to think it's for us but it's not.
And only time keeps the knowledge of the point.
And time never says anything to me, it just keeps moving.

John Lennon said it
Too

Eggs and rice
Some kids and a wife
Things that are comfortable,
Things that are nice

Hieronymus Bosch and shrooms
Explode the room
Rather than *******,
I prefer doom

What shirt am I wearing?
Where are my pants?
Oh yeah,
Last night was the pangalactic valentine dance

Everything acts without my permission, even me.
I know only this talking guy, the PR guy, making faces and excuses for you.
These other appetites and functions serve their purpose, I'm sure.
But they do NOT consult me.
Just as tįmę itself does its bidding
Moving forward without my permission
No. I'm not in control at all.